


Mommy Goggles (On!)

by candlelight_smiles



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Vanya Hargreeves, Good Parent Grace Hargreeves, Grace Implements Some Changes in Her House, Her Babies are Going to THRIVE (Reggie Be Damned), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reginald Hargreeves is a Punk Ass Bitch, Stuttering Diego Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves Has Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlelight_smiles/pseuds/candlelight_smiles
Summary: By the sixteenth time that Number Seven threw her across the room in one of her little fits, Grace had deduced a pattern in the young girl's behavior. Certain sounds and foods appeared to trigger her meltdowns. It could just be nothing (children were often picky eaters), but there was no harm in having it checked out. Grace set up the appointment with a specialist for an ADOS evaluation in between washing the dishes and ironing the children's clothes for the day.Or the one where Grace recognizes early signs of developmental disabilities in her kids and acts accordingly.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves & Everyone, Grace Hargreeves & The Hargreeves, Grace Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 28
Kudos: 270





	1. Chapter 1

Number Seven was different from her siblings. Of course, they were all different in their own ways, what with their extraordinary powers and such, but she was different in another way as well. Grace had the suspicion that she had a developmental disability for several weeks now. More specifically, autism. 

According to her research, the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule (or ADOS) was an instrument for diagnosing and assessing autism. The protocol consisted of a series of structured and semi structured tasks that involved social interaction between the examiner and the person under assessment. 

Autism could be diagnosed as soon as eighteen months, but Grace had not been with the children quite that long. She had only been brought into the fold two weeks after the children’s third birthday. 

Most specifically to deal with little Number Seven’s deadly tantrums. Her human predecessors had all expired prematurely because of them. Grace was not terribly worried that something similar could happen to her. Sir had built her to be incredibly durable and withstand anything short of a nuclear bomb. 

No, actually, the thing that she was worried about was the tantrums themselves. They all seemed to be triggered by specific instances. 

_Loud noises._ All it took was the whistling of the kettle or a glass falling to the kitchen floor to have the air start to bend and shimmer with power. Grace had taken to feeding Number Seven a good deal away from the kitchen itself to avoid having to replace everything in it every time she tried to boil water. 

Another thing that appeared to set Number Seven off was the texture of certain foods. At first, she had thought it was simply a manner of how it tasted, but changing the flavor of oatmeal or adding berries or cinnamon did little to help her aversion. Grace baked a few different types of bars with the exact same flavor as her original oatmeal, and Number Seven had a much more positive reaction. 

In addition to environmental stimuli that would either make Number Seven lash out or start crying, she displayed a few other behaviors that made Grace believe that she may qualify as autistic. 

Number Seven tended to self stimulate a lot and avoided eye contact whenever possible. She also rarely spoke even when prompted in spite of the fact that her vocabulary had been growing in leaps and bounds. She scored the highest on the comprehensive tests that the children’s father gave them just last week. 

Of course, none of these behaviors by themselves would necessarily point to a developmental disorder. But when she put them all together for analysis, Grace could not help but wonder. 

And so, like any good caregiver would do, she found the best diagnostician’s office in the city and booked Number Seven an appointment. It took her approximately eight point three seconds to decide upon a name to provide when the receptionist asked. 

_Vanya,_ a gracious gift from God. That was a lovely name for her lovely little girl, wasn’t it? 

Grace internally made herself a note to ask Sir if she could name the rest of the children or assist them in picking out names when they were a little older as she filed away the date and time of the appointment and hung up the phone. 

Sir was… decidedly less pleased than she had assumed he would be. But when he told her he would forbid such a thing ( _there is nothing wrong with Number Seven, and she absolutely does not require any silly test-_ ) that is when Grace put her foot down. It was the first time that she had gotten upset, in any sense of the word, since her creation. 

Hard facts supporting why it was important that Number Seven get tested flew from her mouth at a rapid speed. The man, appearing momentarily stunned by her passionate outburst, merely nodded when she told him quite firmly that she would be taking Number Seven to be evaluated by a health professional and _that was that._

Two weeks later, on a chilly January morning, Grace dressed Number Seven up in a freshly ironed uniform and her nicest winter coat. The other children were understandably curious about what was happening with their sister, but they were content to be placated with a warm smile and a ‘I shall tell you all about it as soon as we return’. 

“Come along, Seven. It’s time to go,” Grace said. 

She held out her hand to the toddler, and a much smaller hand was quick to find its way into hers. Grace smiled, giving it a gentle squeeze, and walked out the door with her. 

After the initial paperwork that Grace had to fill out and the sit down with the diagnostician, they were taken into a separate room for observation before the tests were given. Number Seven was rather apprehensive about actually playing with the toys in that special room. 

Sir was very strict about the times that the children were allowed to be recreational. She was likely under the assumption that she would be punished for trying to touch anything without prompting. 

Only after a decent amount of verbal encouragement from Grace did she begin to totter about the room and go through the objects scattered around for her perusal. Grace folded her legs and positioned herself on the floor next to the plastic play table. 

Number Seven presented her with a blue and red box with a knob on the side. Her big brown eyes looked at Grace expectantly. The android gave her a nod. 

“Yes, you can play with that, dear. You can play with any of the toys here,” Grace reminded her. 

Number Seven set the box on the table and twisted the knob. She jolted back with a blink when the springy toy popped up from under the lid. Number Seven frowned. She poked the tiny clown with an index finger. The material on its red nose seemed to distract her, and she spent several moments just rubbing it. 

“Have you tried this one yet? This one has fun sounds,” Grace said. 

She placed the colorful wheel in front of Number Seven and spun the knob in the center. It landed on a very happy looking feline and promptly let out a _meow_. 

“Meow,” Number Seven echoed. 

It was the first thing she had said since they had come to the clinic. Or actually since she woke up this morning. The android felt her painted lips curl up in a grin. 

“Indeed. Cats do say meow. Here, you have a go,” Grace suggested. 

She nudged the animal wheel closer to Number Seven with a finger. Number Seven dutifully spun the knob. The cartoon duck let out a _quack_. 

Number Seven was a big fan of the bubble gun that Grace found in the toy chest. She loved to watch them fall over her. Grace got more than one giggle as she chased her around the room with a steady stream of bubbles. 

There were two separate observation sessions in addition to the interactive tests and the interview in which the diagnostician asked Grace a plethora of questions about Number Seven’s daily behavior. 

Grace was not surprised in the slightest when Number Seven’s diagnosis was given to her. She had deduced as much herself. The diagnostician handed her a pamphlet with information on the Autism Spectrum and suggested that they make another appointment for next week to discuss the available treatment plans and therapy. 

“Mom, what’s ASD mean?” Number Seven asked. 

She pointed to the pale blue and purple pamphlet sitting in Grace’s lap. Grace turned toward her daughter as much as her seat belt would allow. She looked her in the eye. 

“ASD is short for Autism Spectrum Disorder,” Grace explained. 

“The lady said I have that,” Number Seven said. 

“That’s right,” Grace confirmed. She nodded. 

The child frowned at her lap. 

“Isn’t - isn’t a disorder… bad?” Number Seven asked. “I’m… bad?” Her eyes started to glisten as they filled with tears. Her lower lip wobbled. “I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. No no. Of course not.” She cupped the girl’s face gently, giving her an assuring smile. “You could never be bad. You’re perfect the way you are,” Grace insisted. 

“Promise?” Number Seven said. 

Her voice was tiny. If Grace had a heart in her bionic chest, it would have ached for the child. As it was, her programming was screaming at her to comfort and make her baby feel better. Grace wiped away a falling tear with a polka dotted handkerchief, nodding. 

“I promise. Autism is _not_ a bad thing. The doctor just likes to use big scary words,” she told her. “All it means is that you see the world in a different way than some people. You’re _special._ My special girl.” Grace placed a kiss on top of her head.


	2. Chapter 2

_Reginald Hargreeves was a_ **_great man._ **

That statement was embedded deep in the core of her internal hard drive, and it refused to let her forget that fact. 

_Reginald Hargreeves was a_ **_great man._ **

That alone was usually enough to prevent her from questioning any and all of her master’s requests. She was a devoted and obedient servant. Her master’s word was law. 

_Reginald Hargreeves was a_ **_great man._ **

However, there was one such piece of code that was placed with slightly higher importance. Whether Sir had intended it this way or not, it mattered not. That was simply how it was. 

_You are in charge of caring for the children. You will tend their injuries. You will cook their meals. You will keep their uniforms clean and folded. You will ensure that they are bathed every night. You are their mother._

Grace took the role of Mother very seriously. At first, this merely meant that she obeyed Sir’s commands to a perfect T, puttering about the house and keeping it in order on Sir’s preprogrammed schedule. 

As the days went on, her interactions with the children grew more and more casual. Less stiff and more natural. Perhaps there was a flaw in her Artificial Intelligence coding, or perhaps some latent maternal instincts that Sir had installed were finally kicking into place. In any case, the children were starting to take a shine to her as well. 

Grace adored all of her children. It was not real love. She did not have the capacity for that. (At least, she did not believe so at this time. More analysis of her core processes was required for a properly conclusive answer.) But she did adore them so very much with all the artificial emotional receptors that she had been given. 

And as such, Grace was very adamant about ensuring that her children got everything they required to excel later in life. She was going to keep a close eye on that speech impediment of Number Two’s (if it did not go away on its own in another six months, she intended to get it checked out with a speech pathologist. Speech therapy was best introduced at a young age to address issues that might only get worse with age), but for now, she was going to focus on arranging an environment that would better suit Number Seven’s condition. 

_Reginald Hargreeves was a_ **_great man._ **

A great man could not be great at everything. That would be irrational to assume such a thing. Sir could focus more on his work, and she could focus on the children for him. She was their mother figure after all. One in five families had a stay at home parent in the United States. It would hardly be an odd thing. 

Grace presented Sir with a small mountain of books and informational pamphlets on autism and the effects of autism on young children as well as adults. He was initially resistant to her suggestion to fill his mind with as much research on his daughter’s condition as possible, so she did what any sensible mother would do. 

She locked him in his study and told him that he would not be getting supper unless he finished _An Early Start for Your Child with Autism: Using Everyday Activities to Help Kids Connect, Communicate, and Learn_ and wrote her a five hundred word essay on what he had learned. Grace promptly ignored the pound of his fist on the door and Sir’s angered call of her name. 

“It looks like someone isn’t getting their supper on time tonight,” Grace said in a playful sing song voice, not dissimilar to the one she liked to use with the children. 

“GRACE! If you do not come back here and unlock this door this instant-” Sir snapped. 

“My ears don’t hear complaining. They only hear ‘Yes, Grace. I’ll get reading right away’,” Grace said. “And do not even _think_ about picking that lock, Sir. I can assure you that your punishment will be much worse than time in the Time Out Square.” 

She tapped her colorful nails against the wooden frame of the door. If she were a different person (or just human), she might have smirked at the muffled sound of outrage that she got in response. 

Grace turned on her heel, dark grey of her starched skirt swirling around her knees, and she started off down the hall. She liked the swish. Perhaps she should order some wider skirts for an extra swishy effect. And lots of bright colors. She liked bright colors. This nanny outfit Sir liked her in was a bit too dark for her taste. 

Pogo caught her just as she was about to descend the stairs. His deep brows furrowed in a frown. 

“Did you lock Master Reginald in his study?” Pogo asked. 

Grace did not lie unless she was specifically ordered to. 

“Of course,” she said. A sweet, if somewhat chilling, smile came to her lips. “And you would do well to leave him alone. He has to finish his reading.” 

The simian doctor looked torn between being confused and amused. 

“What is he supposed to be reading, pray tell?” Pogo asked. 

Grace handed him a copy of the book she had assigned Sir. 

“This one. You should read it as well. It has information pertaining to Number Seven. When you are done with it, I shall be placing more books in the library on the subject. Please look at them in your free time,” Grace said. 

He turned the book over in his hands and glanced at the summary on the back. 

“I will be sure to do that. Thank you, Grace,” Pogo replied. 

“You’re welcome,” Grace said. 

She flashed him another smile, this one warmer than the previous, and she left him to his own devices, making quick work of the many steps on the spiral staircase. 

About thirty minutes later, she had all of the children gathered at the dining table. All of their plates were piled high with food, and they were standing next to their seats, just they had been taught. Grace walked up to Sir’s seat at the head of the table and pulled it out. 

It was important to establish a set schedule for children with autism. They were used to someone sitting at the head of the table at meals. And since Sir was otherwise occupied, she would do as a decent substitute. As it was, there would be a decent amount of changes to Sir’s schedule in order to better work with Number Seven’s condition. She did not wish to shake everything up all at once. 

Number Three let out a shocked gasp. The children were all staring at her with varying degrees of surprise. She had never done that before. Grace merely gave them a smile. 

“Children, your father will not be joining us for supper tonight. He has a lot of important work to do.” With that, she sat down in Sir’s seat and crossed her ankles beneath the table. She gestured for them to sit. The sound of chairs scraping against the hardwood floor could be heard for the next several seconds as they got situated. “You may begin eating,” Grace said. Her fingers snapped, and the radio playing Herr Carlson went silent. “I am certain that you must be wondering where I went with Number Seven the other day. Has she mentioned anything to you about that yet?” 

Six little heads shook side to side. Number Seven looked down at her plate, swirling her peas around with her fork. 

“That is alright. I will explain.” She folded her hands in her lap. “We went to a special doctor-” Grace started. 

“Is Sevvy sick?” Number Four burst, eyes wide with concern. 

Number Six elbowed him in the side with a ‘shh’. 

Grace patiently waited for them to settle down. 

“No, Number Seven is not sick. However, she does have autism,” she explained. “It’s not something you can catch. It is something that some people are born with. Autism affects how the brain works and can make it difficult for some people to talk, understand others, make friends, or calm themselves down when they feel worried or stressed. Any questions?” 

“Is that why she gets mad?” Number One asked. 

Number Four mimed a miniature explosion with his hands. 

“Yes. I promise that she isn’t mad at any of you. Certain things just cause her to have more of a reaction than others. That’s called a sensory overload. If you notice your sister starting to have a meltdown, I want one of you to let me know right away. Alright?” Grace said. 

“Yes, Mom,” six voices parroted. 

“Good. Now, the important thing to remember is that we are patient. When Number Seven needs time to answer or time to herself, we will give her that. Because we all love her very much, don’t we?” Grace said. 

The children were quick to express such a sentiment, rather enthusiastically. Number Seven’s mouth tilted up in a tiny shy smile. She kept her eyes on her plate. 

“Another thing that will be changing is how much recreational time there is in our schedule…”

She tapped her chin. Recreation was particularly important for children with autism, drawing on opportunities to practice social skills, physical aptitude and increase motivation. These activities provided the basis for increased self confidence in the aforementioned child. And the rest of the children would probably love the extra play time as well.

“I believe that an eighty five percent increase should be best. At least an hour a day,” Grace decided. 

The children cheered.


End file.
